June 28th

2130 hours

Kilfenora

Michael issued directives, indistinct to the whole, but very clear to the few expected to carry them out. There was still no sign of Key. He could only hope that once they searched below the granary, they would find her. Allowing anyone in this room to know his concern for her would be a tactical error he couldn't afford.

"Gainey, Snow," Michael walked away from the group as he spoke into his com set. "If you see no other activity, come down. Wait for me by the granary." He switched to B channel, "Walter, bring the mobile com in."

He quickened his long strides; impatient to begin the search, when he heard the chatter of automatic gunfire coming from outside. He whirled and shouted, "Mentz, get these people secured!"

Snow burst through into the alcove yelling, "Someone just took off in the blue van!"

It didn't take Michael long to search out and lock eyes with Thomas. And he didn't like the self-satisfied sneer he saw. With a few mercurial but controlled steps, he was in Thomas' face. His look was lethal, those cold eyes gleaming like fresh ice.

"Who's in the van, Thomas?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His snide smile spread across his face.

Before Thomas could blink, Michael reached up and grabbed him, one handed, by the throat.

"Tell me." Michael's jaw was clinched tightly and his uttered command deepened the threat, even as his hand squeezed tighter.

"Okay." Thomas choked out and Michael released him. Rubbing his throat, he coughed and continued, "Another colleague, Moira, and . . ."

"And what?" His patience was ending and he reached for Thomas again.

" . . . and your . . . slut." He finished.

Michael turned so fast the air churned behind him. He checked himself from shouting into the com set as he ran for the outside door to the cathedral. "Walter, we have a blue van to catch."

"We're ready." He looked at Birkoff and nodded. The young man climbed behind the front seats and waited.

"Michael slammed himself into the van and barked, "GO."

With tires squealing and rubber smoking on the pavement behind them, Walter tore out of town, headed east on the two-lane road. "Who are we chasing?" He asked, focusing all his concentration on the narrow highway before him.

Michael was intent on checking his gun, making sure the clip was secure and the round he chambered earlier was ready. "One of Thomas's colleagues . . ." Now he looked up, watching the ribbon of road ahead, checking for tail lights, " . . . and Key."

Walter stepped a little harder on the gas. "Damn this thing, it drives like a delivery truck." He cursed under his breath.

"It is a delivery truck." Birkoff quipped.

"Shut up kid," Walter snapped, "And if there's anything back there that resembles a seat belt, you better put it on."

"There." Michael pointed at the faint taillights some distance away. "Get me close enough and I'll shoot out a tire."

Walter looked at the speedometer. "We're pegged." He answered. "But we'll get there, we are gaining on them." Walter pleaded in a whisper, "Hang on Key."

Michael rolled down the window and agilely began to position himself. He sat on the lip of the window well, twisted sideways, and using his right hand he anchored himself by gripping the struts holding the swing out mirrors. Then taking careful aim with his left, he squeezed off two rounds.

"Bingo." Birkoff exclaimed from his position. The right rear tire on the van ahead broke apart, throwing pieces of rubber everywhere.

Pulling himself back inside, Michael watched as the unbelievable happened. The brake lights came on and Walter slowed to match the speed. Suddenly the van in front began to sway from side to side as the front wheels locked and the driver obviously panicked, braking too fast.

In the seconds it took to slow the mobile com to a stop, they watched helplessly as the van careened off the road and down an embankment. It came to halt, colliding sideways with one of those ever present rock walls so common to the Irish countryside. As Michael jumped out and started running toward the wreck, it blew.

The flash of the explosion was blinding and the shock wave threw Michael backwards several feet, landing him on his back. The reverberation of the blast was temporarily all he could hear. He scrambled to his feet and before he could run back toward the conflagration, Walter grabbed him, locking him with both arms.

Then he realized the futility of even trying to get near the fire. He jerked free of Walter, threw back his head and wailed, "NO-O-O-O-O!" The sound was primal, splitting the darkness and shaking him to his very core.

Walter and Birkoff were standing by, both staring in disbelief. Michael ripped his com set out of his ear, threw it on the ground, then walked back to the mobile com. Once there, he sank down on the side of the road, bracing himself against the right front tire. The finality of the situation gripped his heart and squeezed until the pain oozed from every pore in his body.

Drawing his legs up, bent at the knees, he rested both arms there, his head bowed. It was then Michael realized he still clutched the gun in his left hand. He raised his head up and looked at it. What would it be like without her? He asked himself. Could he go through the motions? Shut everything down but the basic physical responses to the world around him. He'd done it before. He continued to look at the gun. Did he want to go back . . .to just exist?

Michael brought the gun up slowly and chambered a round, and then he raised it to his temple and closed his eyes. Before he could pull the trigger, Walter was there, grabbing his forearm and snatching the gun out of his hand.

"No you don't." Walter bent down beside him "Don't do the devil any favors, Michael. Key wouldn't want you to do that." He spoke loudly over the roar of the fire. "I know how you feel . . . when Belinda . . ." He paused, watched the light from the inferno, play across Michael's blank face. "Well, I almost did the same thing. Nikita stopped me."

Slowly, with a lot of effort, Michael focused on Walter and said, "I caused this to happen."

"No you didn't" Walter gestured to what was left of the van. "There was enough C-4 in that truck to take out a large building. You couldn't have known that."

Michael leaned his head back against the tire and looked up through all the smoke at the stars. He had never felt more defeated in victory than he did at this moment.

Walter stood up and moved away, giving Michael room to . . . think, get his self back together. He shook his head as he focused on the burning vehicle, or what was left of it. There were probably pieces of it scattered for several hundred yards.

Michael was always quick to take responsibility for anything mission related, or otherwise, that happened to fail. The fact that failure rarely figured into the picture didn't reduce the impact on Section's top operative. He'd watched Michael since Key had inadvertently fallen into the Section mix. She's challenged him right from the start. They'd matched wits, clashed on ideas, agreed on strategies, and somewhere in the process they had developed an uncanny level of communication. That Michael was much more jaded because of his circumstances had not deterred Key. Her existence and identity had been stolen from her much like everyone in Section; she just lacked the constant exposure to violence and the mind games Section provided. But she had adjusted to that, too.

It had been a different world for Michael since that first collision in the forest. The eagle meets the dove? The lion and the lamb? No, that wasn't correct. Key had not backed down once; had never been the prey to the predator.

Fire meets Ice? That was wrong, too. Michael hadn't melted. Fire meets Steel? Yep, that was it. He hadn't melted . . . but he had bent. Now what would he do? Breaking wasn't an option. Right at this moment Walter was glad he wasn't Thomas O'Neil.

Birkoff had stayed away. He couldn't deal with anything but his own emotions at this point. He'd been especially fond of Key. She hadn't treated him like a little brother or a snot-nosed kid. She'd approached him as an equal from the very beginning. He admired her and respected her. She was no cyber-geek, but she could run circles around a lot of his staff. He leaned against the back of the van, appreciating for a moment the coolness of the metal through his clothes. Compared to the heat from the fires still burning, it was a small relief. This was not a good thing, loosing her like this.

"Birkoff, where's Michael?" Mentz broke the silence over his com set. "I've been trying to get him on all channels. What happened? We thought we heard an explosion."

"Now's not a good time Mentz." He offered his response in the form of advice. "The van we were chasing ran off the road and blew."

"Well I need to talk to Michael." Mentz continued to insist.

"Look I told you now's not a good time. Key was in that van."

"No she wasn't, she's here."

His blood suddenly all seemed to rush to his head. The pounding and pressure all but rendered him dumb. "Wha . . what did you say?"

"She's here. She wasn't in the van. Now let me talk to Michael."

"Shit, she's alive." It was a statement instead of a question this time. Birkoff rounded the corner of the van in a hurry. "Michael I've got Mentz." He stood in front of Michael still sitting on the ground and held out his com set.

Walter looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

Birkoff stooped down in front of him. "Here, take it Michael, you're gonna want to hear this." He took a deep breath, "Key's alive."

Michael lifted his eyes slowly, they were shot through with fatigue, and he blinked, then shook his head.

"She got out of the van, or she was never in it. She's really alive; Mentz has her."

He took the com set and adjusted it to his ear. Surely more from reflex than pure thought at the moment, he spoke, "Report."

"Michael, right after you left we secured the collateral, then began a systematic search of the granary and the grounds. Taylor found her."

It was like coming out of a fog. He straightened himself and got up from the ground as he responded. "Where?"

"In the graveyard." He continued, "She was curled up on the ground at the base of one of the crosses."

Michael nodded at Walter and Birkoff. We're on our way." Walter jumped in the driver's seat and Birkoff headed for his workstation in the back. No doubt there would be a need to report to Section.

"Michael, she's not doing well."

He stopped short of climbing in the van, "Evaluation." His response was short, clipped.

"Her temp is 103.1, pulse is weak, she's severely dehydrated, and she most certainly has fluid in her lungs; breathing is labored." He finished.

"Is she conscious?"

"Negative, Michael."

"Is that helicopter Cunningham and Magruder arrived in secured?"

"Yes."

"Get it ready. Gainey's cleared for flight." He said as he finally climbed in the van. The calm, cool, collected Michael was back, only someone who knew him well could read the urgency in his eyes.

"What's the plan?" Walter asked as he swung the mobile com around and headed for Kilfenora.

Without answering him directly, Michael hailed Birkoff in the back of the van. "Find our closest medical facility option and get clearance."

"Already got it, Michael." Birkoff responded. "That would be Section 4, Northern Europe."

"How long?"

"No more than an hour. They'll be expecting you."

************

CHAPTER THIRTY - THE DREAM

June 28th

2300 hours

Somewhere over

Northern Europe

Contingencies and variables. This was one mission that had actually ended with a generous margin of success. No one died, unless you counted the one Chimera member driving the van. But they hadn't lost any operatives, this time. The collateral was secure and on their way to Section, into the waiting arms of Madeline. They had neatly averted what would have been a serious explosion - somewhere in Dublin . . . and Key wasn't dead, at least yet.

Michael didn't delude himself that she was even close to being out of danger. She was still burning with fever, struggling for every breath. Fortunately, IV fluid was available in a med kit and he'd been able to start that before they left. He had crawled into the back cargo area of the helo and once Mentz had handed Key into his waiting arms, they'd been on their way.

The two made quite a picture. Without the prying eyes of Section, the Michael you saw was utterly stripped of his psycho - Section armor. He cradled the feverish woman, gently pressed his lips against her temple and crooned tenderly - I'm here ch(rie, ten(r sur. Still unconscious, she had brief moments of fever related delirium, where Michael actually had to restrain her. The only intelligible thing she'd said was his name.

Michael glanced at his watch. They had been in the air nearly an hour, so he reached for the communications unit required to talk with the pilot.

"Gainey, how far out are we?" He asked.

"We're coming up on the coordinates you gave me now. Why don't you stay on line in case they start asking questions I can't answer." Gainey began slowing his air speed, and almost like someone had read their minds, lights for a landing pad suddenly appeared just ahead. "We're going in Michael, be ready."

Landing was uneventful, and almost as soon as they touched down, the lights went off. Section Four was located inside an abandoned military base and without too much scrutiny it still looked unoccupied, mostly due to the considerable care taken to remain that way as demonstrated just now.

Two men, armed and dressed in black, appeared along with two more whom were pushing a gurney fitted with those eerie green emergency lights. The door to the cargo area was opened and Michael was immediately hit with a bright light rendering him momentarily blind, as was their intent. The required response - K3-57 - was provided and the light was doused. One of the men with the gurney took the hanging IV and the other reached for Key as Michael handed her down. Gainey stayed with the helicopter, as did one of the armed operatives. No doubt they would move it to some obscure hanger at some obscure airport.

They entered the building through an old creaky door and that was where the camouflage and disguise ended. Sliding wooden doors, concealing an elevator, opened. Once loaded, they began their descent into the main facility. The two med techs began questioning Michael on how long Key had been sick and what had been done to and for her. He reached into his vest and pulled the PDA loaded with her medical history and how she came to be so ill. The med tech nodded his appreciation.

Outside of that exchange, there was really no further communication. No one was waiting as they entered through the heavy metal access door. Michael was surprised there wasn't someone there to usher him to debrief. He had half expected that directive to come from Operations. Instead, he offered a silent sigh of relief as they briskly made their way down the brightly-lit hallway. The green emergency lights on the gurney mixed with the stark lighting made the whole scenario feel very surreal.

It wasn't long before they made a left turn at a T intersection and ended their journey in front of a pair of frosted glass doors. The armed operative accompanying them indicated that Michael could go no further. He pointed him toward an observation window that was two-way and provided the option of audio access to the medical bay. There he positioned himself for the best view, rolled his shoulders and tried to relax, tried to find that plane of calm inside.

Michael watched as no less than five medical personnel worked to evaluate Key's condition. One taking vitals, one cutting away her filthy clothes, one bathing her as each part of her body was uncovered, one replacing the IV fluid, and one, apparently the doctor, reviewing the data on the PDA he'd provided. For the brief moment she was exposed, her body naked before them, Michael cringed inwardly. She was white, just as white as the sheet she lay on, and so very thin, very fragile. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, blaming himself for how far she'd had to go to complete this mission. No need to worry if she would forgive him; she would never blame him. As always, forgiveness, purgation and absolution would have to come from within, if that were possible.

Suddenly he heard his name and time stood still.

"Michael." The voice was soft, yet strong in its enunciation of the two syllables of his name. It actually sounded like, "My - Kul." The old familiar tingle skittered down his spine and delayed his response. Without turning away from the viewing window he acknowledged her presence verbally, "Ni-ki-ta."

Her scent preceded her as she joined him. It was a scent he would never forget. As her trainer and ex-mentor and one time lover, Michael had pulled the young woman from the brink of self-destruction on several occasions. He had also lied and manipulated her, and in the end he had remade the raw street kid into one of Section's top operatives. The one thing he had been instructed to crush - her compassion - remained intact. That particular trait of hers had saved his life more times than he cared to admit. She had learned, maybe from his example, and at great expense to herself, how to put a harness on her impetuous streak.

It was on her own initiative she had approached Madeline, six months earlier, and requested a transfer. What could have initially been a death sentence had she failed, placed her now in a position to make a subtle but substantial impact on mission profile protocol. Section Four had been a good fit for her.

"I understand you had a successful end game to the Chimera mission." Her voice still quiet, was almost a whisper.

"Yes." Michael responded. He continued to watch the activity in the med bay. They had brought in the x-ray equipment and started drawing blood samples from Key.

"I was very sorry to hear about Tallie."

Michael gripped the rail in from of him, the only outward reaction he'd shown to her presence or her statements thus far. "He will be missed." His voice was soft, a measure of reverence evident in the timbre.

Nikita sucked in a deep breath, thinking that starting a conversation with Michael had not gotten any easier. "Is this the Innocent who helped complete the mission?"

There was a pause before he said, "Yes, Ms. Yager helped design the mission." He added quietly, "And she may loose her life because I allowed her to . . . to take some chances I didn't approve of." Michael finished his statement as he finally turned to look at her.

Walter and Birkoff had both filled her in about this woman, mentioned the impact she had made on Michael. What they had told her in no way prepared her for the obvious reality. It was in his eyes . . . naked. . . raw . . . fear. Fear spawned by a deep and abiding love. She was surprised Michael had dropped the wall. He must have wanted her to see, because talking about his feelings would still be a place he would never go to with her. Circumstances had prevented the two of them from finding a solid beginning to a relationship. Too much Section interference, dishonesty and lack of trust early on had left the rift between them too wide to bridge. It still didn't stop her heart from going out to him. One thing they would always have between them was mutual respect.

"Michael, I know her condition is very grave, but give the medical team a chance to do their job." She pleaded with him. "Remember she's young, strong and has every reason to want to live."

His look flickered back to the window. Fatigue had enhanced the lines around his eyes; the shadow of his beard stubble, the ashen color of his face, all combined and prompted her to make a suggestion. "Why don't you come with me. I've arranged temporary quarters for you. Take a hot shower, eat something, maybe sleep a few hours."

"I don't want to leave before I know her status." Stubbornly he held his position.

"Let's get the doctor out here and see what he can tell us." She flipped on the audio to the med bay. "Ken, can you give us a report on Ms. Yager's condition?"

The doctor held up one finger, signaling they wait for him as he read through some information just presented to him. Then he headed for the door, stripping off his gloves, and mask in the process.

Ken came right up to Michael and extended his hand for a shake as he said, "Hi, I'm Ken Shore, you must be Michael. Nikita has spoken highly of you on several occasions."

Michael shook his hand and was immediately imbued with confidence. Ken had a serious, professional look, but his eyes spoke of kindness and genuine concern. He was also intrigued as to why Nikita had mentioned anything about him to this man.

"Ms. Yager has obviously been through a lot. Her temperature is still elevated, but it will take some time for the medication to start doing its job. We've given her a very aggressive course of antibiotics, along with fluid electrolytes to counter the dehydration." He paused, and Michael waited for the bad news. "The x -rays show an area of consolidation in the upper and middle lobes of her right lung. To help her breathing she's getting oxygen though nasal tubes. The good news is the blood culture shows the infection is isolated in her lungs. The bad news is her white cell count. Normal is 6 to 12,000 and Ms. Yager's is 18,000. She's on the verge of developing ARDS or adult respiratory distress syndrome. We'll be watching her closely and if we have to, we may need to intubate her. The next 48 to 72 hours will tell the story."

"When can I go in?" Michael interrupted.

"Whoa." Ken held up his hand and smiled at the same time. "I know you're eager to be with her, but she needs to be kept in isolation for now. Her immune system has been seriously compromised by the pneumonia. I don't want to expose her unnecessarily to anything bacterial or viral that could attack her in this weakened state. Hopefully we can get her temperature down in the next 24 hours and she should regain consciousness."

Michael glanced back through the window, a look of longing quite evident on his face. Ken watched this, then stole a look at Nikita as she inclined her head toward Michael and raised an eyebrow. Ken caught her message.

"Why don't you go clean up, Michael, rest, maybe eat something. Give us a couple of hours to monitor her progress. Then come back. We'll garb you in all the appropriate sterile clothing and then you can see her. Agreed?"

Michael nodded.

"Oh yeah," Ken fished into the pocket of his lab coat. "I'm surprised you didn't notice this, but . . ." He extended his hand out to Michael, "she had a death grip on this. I thought it might be important."

Michael watched as he dropped a button into his open palm. A wave of cold washed over him, as his hand closed around it and his gut clinched painfully. The doctor didn't know how close he was to the truth. Had things been that close to ending? "Thank you." He said softly as he looked back up at Ken. "You'll send for me if she gets any worse?"

"You bet." Ken clapped him on the shoulder. Nikita couldn't hide the small grin as she watched the contact Ken initiated. Anyone who knew Michael or had worked with him for long would never dream of touching him in such a familiar way. Of course Michael's icy aura was substantially diminished, but Ken usually ignored such things. That was what she liked about him so much.

"Come on Michael, this way." She directed.

With one last look at Key, all the medical equipment and the personnel hovering around her, he turned and followed Nikita, more willing to leave at this point, but not for a long period.

The room she led him to was not far from the medical area housing Key. It was the typical temporary Section quarters; starkly furnished with a bunk, a desk, and a small bathroom. Michael was relieved to see someone had left a tray with sandwiches, fruit, drinking water and a glass of milk. Nikita. She had remembered his fondness for milk.

"It's not much Michael, but you know the drill." He turned and looked at her, now seeing her really well for the first time since his arrival. She looked happy. No underlying turmoil, no constant wariness showed in her eyes. "What is it?" She asked as she watched him give her the 'Michael once over.'

He began removing his gear, divesting himself of his gun, holster and Kevlar vest as he answered, "You're happy here." It was a statement instead of a question.

"Yes . . . yes I am." She smiled shyly. "This was a good move for me."

"And Doctor Shore is someone special to you?" Michael paused and looked at her, watching the surprise spread across her features.

"You always could read me like a book, Michael."

"Not always." He said wistfully as he finished putting out the things from his vest he would need easy access to.

Nikita followed Michael's every step. He still fascinated her. His smooth cat like grace and economy of movement was not something you learned; not something you developed - perhaps with a lot of work - it was actually something you were born with. She returned her focus to the conversation.

"Ken is . . ." She paused, not sure just what or how much to say. Turned out she didn't need to . . . say anything.

"Everything I couldn't be." Michael finished her statement.

Nikita had been leaning, relaxed against the door. She straightened, his comment stirring something in her that needed to be said. "Michael, that's simply not true. Our situation from the beginning was slated to fail and not because of anything you did or did not do." She watched Michael raise an eyebrow at this. "I was hurt and angry with you much of the time . . . I blamed you for the lies, the maneuvers, the exploitation of my naivete. When, in fact, you had no more control over those things than the constant emotional blackmail you endured, at great expense to yourself."

"Nikita, this isn't the time for us to . . ."

She interrupted, "Yes it is Michael. I left Section because I loved you. I couldn't stand by and watch you fight two battles, one to keep me alive and one for your own survival."

To this Michael did not respond immediately. He simply stood there, his expression unreadable. She had left because of him, but not for the reason he believed.

"You shouldn't have concerned yourself with me." He looked away from her penetrating blue eyes.

"Someone had to think about you and where things were headed." She shook her head, her blond hair trailing across her shoulders like silk. "Madeline and Operations would have just stood quietly by while you derailed. Then the ice queen would have picked you up and put you back on track. Her power over you, and his, firmly reestablished."

Michael almost blanched outwardly at her perceptiveness. Instead he moved over and sat down on the bunk.

She continued, "Part of me will always love you. You were the first man to ever care whether I lived or died." Nikita moved away from the door and sat down beside him. "You actually deserve a medal for putting up with all my crap." Then her voice softened as she finished, "But the little girl has grown up, and the woman I am today is in love with someone else . . . and so are you."

They sat together, both silent for what passed as an eternity. Michael digested everything she had said. All of it was true except for one thing; instead of being close to derailment, he'd been much closer to having a train wreck.

Nikita knew better than to expect a response. Everything she had said needed to be said. Tentatively she placed a hand on his knee. "Go take a shower. There are some clean clothes at the end of the bed. I'll come back for you in two hours."

She started to rise, then stopped when Michael's hand covered hers. Nikita didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. Then he said softly, "Thank you."

Once Nikita had gone Michael pushed up from the bed wearily and headed for the shower, stripping off his black turtleneck in the process. He reached in and turned on the water, setting it to as hot as he thought he could stand. Michael caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he started to peel off his mission pants. Pale beneath his beard, what he noticed the most were his eyes, green floating in pools of bloodshot red. Not the cool collected look he was use to pasting on his face. Quickly he grabbed the razor by the sink and turned to step into the shower. The hot water hit him stinging and pricking his body back to life. Steadily as possible, he scraped the three-day growth of beard from his face. Once he was finished, he stepped fully under the powerful spray of water, reaching out, bracing himself against the wall. There, with his head bowed, he actually prayed, Please let her be okay.

Michael was unsure just how long he stayed in that position. The heat from the water seemed to finally beat some of the tension from his body. Once he shut down the shower, he reached for a towel to wrap around his waist and another to dry his hair with. His body felt the languid warmth now coursing through and he walked around the room rubbing the last bit of moisture from his curls. Pausing before the items he had taken from his vest, he fingered first the key to the safe deposit box on the chain, then the flat metal disk inscribed with "un c(ur, un (me." His hand then drifted over and touched the button. He thanked whatever god there was that Key had not used the deadly cyanide.

Giving way to his weariness, Michael finally turned and stretched out on the bunk, willing his mind to go blank. Soon he was breathing evenly, asleep for what felt like the first time in weeks.

The colors were unbelievable. Purple, yellow, scarlet, peach, and shades of blue peaked out from . . . everywhere. Springing from cracks in the rock- like pavement, the fissures and interstices, were thousands of wild flowers. As far as the eye could see, pallets of color treated the sense of sight with a visual wonderland. It almost took his breath away. Slowly he turned in a circle, and in the opposite direction the rock lay open and barren, leading to the sound of the sea.

His eyes widened as she came into view. The sun was glinting brightly off the red gold curls as she stood out against the blue horizon of sky. Her back was to him and when he opened his mouth to call her name nothing happened, no sound came from his throat. It didn't matter how hard he tried to speak.

Finally out of frustration he screamed her name in his mind, Key! Then she turned slowly and the look he saw on her face made him try unsuccessfully to go to her. His feet were firmly planted; they wouldn't move, even as he commanded them they remained set. She was standing on the cliff that most certainly stretched precariously to the sea. He could smell the salty tang of it in the air around him.

Key.< He spoke her name again inside his head. Her face was pale, almost translucent and her eyes were brimming with tears, sadness pulling at her gaunt features. Michael willed his hand to extend to her, gesturing for her to come to him. Then he heard her speak, in his mind, because her lips did not move to form the words.

I can't come to you Michael; my parents need me. Her words bounded through his head and a chilling panic gripped his heart.

No. He responded. No, your parents are dead. You can't go. His insistence was punctuated by another gesture for her to come away from the precipice.

They promised I wouldn't hurt anymore, there'll be no more pain. They miss me. She cried.

You can't go. He was frightened now. I need you. He choked out, his voice in his mind bordering on hysteria.

She turned partially around, looking out, away from the escarpment, then back again. I just don't think I can stay. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and the light breeze played with her curls, fanning her hair out behind her like streamers of light.

You have to fight! His head was bursting from the crescendo of the waves beating against the cliff below. It seemed the sound had built from a mere rumble to a roar.

Michael's eyes popped open suddenly. His heart was pounding as he scrambled from the bunk. He couldn't pull on the clothes Nikita left for him quickly enough. He slammed his feet into his boots, lacing them up in record time. As he exited the room, still jerking the Henley over his head, Michael blinked, focusing his eyes against the bright lights of the hall. From there he made his way to the medical bay and standing at the observation window he watched as Ken and the others worked on Key. It looked like they had intubated her.

Frantically he hit the audio button and once it appeared like the activity had subsided, he spoke into the mic. "I don't care what you have to do to get me in there, but you better do it . . . NOW."

Ken glanced up from adjusting the IV and nodded at one of the people assisting him. Michael moved around to the frosted glass doors, waiting for them to open. Once they did, he entered an alcove where he was dressed in a gown, mask and gloves. Then he was admitted to the medical bay and he moved quickly to the side of Key's bed.

Ken responded as Michael picked up one of her small hands and cradled it in his larger one. "Her breathing was more labored and I made the decision to go ahead and intubate. This should ease her struggling. I was just about to send for you. How did you know to come?"

Michael slowly raised his eyes from the pale figure on the bed and what Ken saw on his face was near to terror. He watched as Michael shook his head and returned his attention to Key. "Talk to her Michael, she can hear you. She needs to fight this." Then out of respect he moved away, giving them some privacy.

This was not an image Michael wanted to remember - Key, unconscious, with a breathing tube, IV's running everywhere, so very pale and gaunt. Talk to her. Ken had said. She can hear you. Talk to her he would, but not with the mask on, nor the gloves, so off they came. At this point germs were his last concern. He wanted her to hear him, wanted her to feel his breath, his lips, and the touch of his hand. He wanted her to know he was very much alive and that she was going to stay that way too.

Gently he brought her hand to his lips, felt the heat still radiating from her body. "Please fight for me Key." His voice was a broken whisper against the back of her hand. Michael maintained a firm hold with the one hand and reached to brush his index and middle finger of his other across the arch of one eyebrow, noting at the same time the translucent blue veins running across her eyelids. Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss against her temple, speaking softly, yet with his characteristic firmness.

"Key, I know you can hear me. You can't leave. This is where you belong. If you'll stay here with me, I'll . . ." What could he promise her? What could he possibly promise and know Section would not cause him to compromise his word? "I'll never let them use you like this again." He expelled a breath and it stirred the curls by her ear. "We can be so much stronger together." His head dropped and rested against the side of hers. "Please." Michael beseeched.

He kept talking to her. Brushing her face with gentle fingers, wishing he could hold her. Michael had never strung so many words together in his life. Never talked to anyone this long, never begged, never pleaded with anyone like he did with Key. From somewhere, sometime during this, a chair appeared and he positioned himself beside her. Even when someone came by to check her vitals, adjust IV's, oxygen, make notes on her chart, he didn't stop. And no one tried to stop him. No one protested or objected that he removed his mask and gloves. No one tried to get him to leave.

After several hours, Michael succumbed to his exhaustion and resting his head beside her on the bed, he slept. He didn't dream, he didn't visualize any colorful flowers, no high rocky cliffs, no Key trying to leave him. He just slept, still holding her hand more tightly than ever.

**********************************************

"Michael." A strong hand clasped his shoulder. "Michael, wake up." The voice penetrated his fog, and normally the physical contact would have had him on his feet. Shaking his head, he looked first at Key then over his shoulder at Ken. "Her fever has come down. 101 degrees. That's two degrees, a very good sign."

Michael reached over and lay a hand against her cheek. She had cooled off. The flush was still there, but not as bright. He watched as one of the nurses applied some petroleum jelly to her dry lips around the breathing tube. Releasing her hand, he scrubbed his face with his and stood up from his seat, stretching the cramped muscles in his back.

"How about her blood work?" He inquired, looking at Ken.

"We're checking that now. I don't expect a major improvement for at least another twelve hours, but her temperature is dropping right on schedule." He walked around to the other side of the bed and checked the fluids hanging on the IV rack. "She's receiving the third round of IV antibiotics now. This really is a very good sign." Michael could tell Ken was smiling behind the mask because he could see his eyes crinkle at their corners.

"When can you remove the breathing tube?"

"Perhaps when she regains consciousness." Michael looked down at her again and took her hand as Ken continued. "Something tells me she won't stand to have that tube in for very long after she's awake." He chuckled.

Michael glanced up at Ken, suddenly, a look of astonishment on his face. "She just squeezed my hand." Quickly he bent over her, searching her face for any other reaction. "Key, wake up. Open your eyes, ch(rie." He smoothed a hand over her forehead. "Look at me."

She squeezed his hand tighter and as she never did anything slowly, her eyes snapped open and there was a look of alarm on her face as she reached up and touched the breathing tube. Almost immediately she began to struggle against the device and Michael restrained her gently. "It's okay, little one."

Ken was already gesturing for some assistance and he leaned in to speak to her as he noticed her eyes darting from Michael to him. "Ms. Yager, I'm Dr. Shore. You're in a medical bay at Section Four." He paused as he watched her calm, then focus on him. "Michael brought you in with an advanced case of pneumonia. We intubated you about eighteen hours ago because you were having some serious respiratory problems. We'd like to take you off the machine, but I need you to relax. I'm going to shut it off first. Do you understand?" Key looked back at Michael and Ken watched as she squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.

"Here we go." Ken nodded at the nurse and she turned off the respirator. Without the rush of oxygen, Key fought a moment for a breath on her own, then settled. "Now Ms. Yager," Ken spoke with assurance, never once loosing eye contact with her as he disconnected the tube from the machine. "I want you to help me. On the count of three give me a good cough and it'll all be over. One, two, three . . ." He pulled the tube and she coughed as instructed. "There, all done."

She coughed a few more times, Michael supporting her from the slightly inclined position of the bed. Ken handed Michael a cup of water with a straw, and watched as he helped her fit the straw to her lips and drink. As he handed the cup back to Ken, Michael leaned in, looked at her and said, "Better?"

Key nodded, then with all the effort she had left she lifted her arms and encircled his neck weakly. He hesitated only a moment, then sat on the bedside and gathered her to him, caressing the tangled curls down her back. "It's okay now. It's over."

*********************************************

Actually, things had only just begun. Key's progress was dramatic after she finally regained consciousness. Although she was weak as a kitten to start with, it was as if she fed off of his attention and his strength. Over the next forty-eight hours, she did sleep a lot, but when she was awake, Michael was there, first cajoling her to eat and drink, and then as she became cranky from the confinement, he threatened her. She was a horrible patient. She was fussy sometimes when he was there and when he wasn't, she was a terror, insisting she could get up, wanting to leave the medical bay long before Ken would even consider it.

Michael was bombarded with work the minute it was known back at Section One that Key was out of danger. It surprised him, however, that Madeline or at least Operations, didn't insist he return. Perhaps they simply avoided the issue, knowing he would most likely refuse or maybe this was one of their rare moments where they were so pleased with the end game, this was his unspoken reward.

Three weeks . . . that was how long Ken predicted for her recovery and it took every bit of that.

"I'm just done with all this." Key said with exasperation, after thinking the same for at least the last week.

"Done with what?" Ken inquired with a touch of humor in his voice.

"With people poking needles in me." She said as she watched Ken draw her blood into the test vial. "And what's so funny?"

"Well, Your Crankiness, if your white count checks out, this is the last time we'll have to do this." He withdrew the needle, placing a band-aide over the puncture and bending her arm back.

"You mean I get my own room and all my privileges back? Dad?" Key laughed. Her voice ringing through the room.

Michael stood just inside the alcove watching the exchange between Key and Ken. He'd just returned from completing a mission. Nothing too major. The existence of some documents falsely implicating the French representative to the United Nations in the embezzlement of a Hunger Relief fund had needed to be retrieved. Simple, successful, but requiring him to be away for five days. She looked wonderful. Her color was back and her hair piled on top of her head, glinted golden red under the bright med lab lights. Somehow she had managed to procure something to wear besides the cotton hospital gown. He knew her propensity to being cold, and the plaid flannel pajamas certainly stood out in contrast to the stark white and hospital green.

Michael touched the button beside the doors and they slid open, admitting him to the room. Remnants of her laughter were left hanging as her head snapped up and her attention was drawn by the swish of the doors. He took her breath away as she watched him cross the room. That fabulous strut, so primal, so dangerous; she thought it should be registered as a weapon. HE should be registered as a weapon, but then he was, wasn't he?

His eyes had locked onto hers, and at a distance they glittered green like an electric lodestone. Key didn't know what kind of mission he'd been on but she certainly approved of his attire. It was a tuxedo. Although he had removed the tie and loosened the collar, he still looked quite delicious. And instead of his usually tame coiffure, his hair was windblown, the curls now in control. She was very glad she was disconnected from all the monitors, because her pulse had bounded and her heart was beating like a racehorse.

Michael approached the side of the bed and Key unconsciously licked her lower lip.

"Hi." He spoke softly as his eyes darted from her to Ken and back.

"I'll just go and get the test run on this sample." Ken moved away. The energy leaping between the two of them was like a ricocheting bullet and he knew the quicker he got the test results, the better.

"I like the pajamas." Michael fingered the cuff of her sleeve. Key was embarrassed. She wished instead of flannel she had on silk. It was what Michael's quiet sophistication demanded.

Key smoothed her hands down the flannel top, bowing her head as the color rose to her cheeks. "If I had known you were back, I would have tried to look nicer, maybe put on something besides this frumpy looking flannel, fixed my hair . . ." She trailed off as her hands now reached up and tried without success to smooth the errant curls.

Michael frowned a moment as he reached down and lifted her chin, bringing her face back up, searching her eyes. "What's wrong, ch(rie?" He noticed the flush on her cheeks. Then he realized she was embarrassed. "Non. You look enchanting just the way you are." He let her see the heat, the want in his eyes.

She sucked in a deep breath as he pinned her with those burning green eyes, and she saw he meant every word. Her insides quivered and all she could think about was how much she wanted to get him out of that tuxedo. "Stop it Michael." She warned.

His eyebrows lifted and his eyes changed to that 'What have I done?' look, as he said innocently, "I don't know what you mean."

Key took his hand from her chin and clasped it between both of hers and squeezed. "Yes you do, you . . . you libertine."

He laughed, and it was like music. She wasn't sure she had ever heard him laugh. Key just sat there and bathed in it. The feeling she had was indescribable.

"Okay you two." Ken approached with a computer print out in his hand and a mock warning in his voice. "Normal, normal, normal. She's so normal it's disgusting." He smiled. "Now get her out of my medical bay, Michael. She can terrorize you with her bad behavior."

"Gladly." Michael said as he reached down and swept her off the bed into his arms.

"I still want her take it easy for the next week or so." He called after them.

Key looked over Michael's shoulder as he walked toward the sliding doors. The smile on her face was pure radiance and before they disappeared, she gave Ken a big, overdone wink.

***********

July 27th

0800 hours

Luxury jet

"Are you going to tell me where we're headed?" Key said, her patience already on a short leash. She was pacing as she had been since the pilot informed them they could move about the cabin freely.

Michael was working. Typing on the computer before him. A slight frown marred his look of concentration, and he ignored her. "Are we going back to Section One?" She continued pacing, back and forth, flipping her hair back occasionally in a nervous gesture.

Still no answer.

Key went to the nicely stocked wet bar, rummaged around and came up with a bottle of sparkling water. She uncapped it, took a drink and continued to pace.

"What in the world are you doing that's so important you can't answer me?" She stopped in front of him, cocked her hip and rested her hand there.

Michael continued to work as he answered in that infuriatingly calm voice. "Sit down." It was a command and then it wasn't.

"Sit down?" Her response was one of surprise, bordering on anger. "Sit down? I've been sitting down," She started to pace again, "or reclining in a bed for almost a month, and you want me to sit down?"

Finally Michael finished all his entries and hit the send button. Then he slowly closed up the laptop, looked up and watched her. She was striding back and forth; her ankle length purple cotton skirt seemed to enhance an area he couldn't resist admiring. And as for her yellow cotton crop top, sans any bra, well . . . it was a good thing he'd gotten his work out of the way.

"You know I could just go ask the pilot, maybe he would tell me." She stopped pacing again and finally noticed he was just sitting there watching her. "Well?" The word was protracted, drawn out, demanding.

"We're going back to Ireland." He responded in a matter of fact voice.

"Ireland. Whatever for?" She now had both hands on her hips and the tee shirt was stretched across her chest. Michael just blinked.

"Michael." There was a warning in the tone of her voice.

Prudently he moved his eyes up to look directly at her. "We don't have to be back at Section until the 29th."

"Oh.." The bluster was gone, but Key narrowed her look, eyes sparking. "So why Ireland?"

"I thought we might try to develop some more pleasant memories than what we left with." He said absently, still unable to keep his self from admiring her compact form, the healthy glow that was back and her . . . freckles.

"So there's no mission, just time to ourselves?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so?" A smile spread across her face.

Michael just shook his head. He wondered about the possibility that she would be able to contain all her energy once they were back. He couldn't see Madeline dealing too well with all her exuberance. Birkoff maybe, but Madeline . . . . . .?

"Come over here." He held out his hand and Key swung around the edge of the table where he'd been working. She started to sit down bedside him and instead he pulled her onto his lap. Key looked deeply into his eyes, then reached up and tucked an errant curl behind his ear. Turning serious, she asked. "So what did you have to offer up in order to arrange this?"

"Nothing major." He responded, as he drank in her presence with a thirst he knew that he would never quench.

"What does that mean, Michael?" Her breath whispered across his face.

"You ask too many questions ch(rie." Michael drew her closer, placing a teasing kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Then shut me up." She challenged quietly.

And he did.

***************************************

"Michael this place is beautiful." Key exclaimed as she watched the driver swing down a curving lane and come to a stop.

The house, if you could call it that, was a huge stone building. It had been used in the 1800's as a hunting lodge. Surrounded by graceful old trees, carefully manicured shrubbery, and gardens of flowers, it sprawled over a large lawn dotted with wooden benches placed carefully along curving walking paths. "What is this place?"

"This is Zetland Country House." Michael answered as he exited the car and held out a hand to assist Key. "We're right on Cashel Bay in Connemara."

Key was speechless from that point as Michael led her up the stone steps where they were greeted by the proprietors, then ushered without delay to their suite. The room was enormous, decorated with heavy cherry furniture, and thick area rugs covering beautiful hardwood floors. The bay windows looked directly out over the ocean and had French doors between them that opened onto a spacious balcony.

Immediately she kicked off her sandals, relishing in the feel of the deep plush rug. There was a big chandelier positioned over the sitting area that also contained a stone fireplace set into the wall. Throwing open the doors to the balcony Key stood there and breathed in the fresh ocean air.

"Do you like it?" Michael moved up behind her, standing just inches from her back, but not touching her.

"What's there not to like?" Her whole body leapt to attention as he circled her waist, resting both hands flat against her abdomen.

Then kissing the soft skin behind her right ear, he asked. "What would you like to do now?" His lips trailed softly down her neck to the top of her shoulder. "Play golf, tennis . . ." Michael's hands pressed more firmly on her stomach, bringing her back against the length of his body. " . . . hiking, fishing, sunning on the beach?" He had her ear lobe between his teeth now, nibbling with his lips.

"Ummmm . . ." Key couldn't put a single thought together. The assault of his lightly accented voice and his mouth on her skin stirred her senses thoroughly.

"Or we could just stay here . . ." Michael's one hand moved up her midriff and the heat from his callused palm was almost unbearable. She rested her head back against his broad chest.

"Michael." She choked out his name. Her crop top gave him easy access to the creamy soft flesh beneath and his hand, as it continued its journey, now cupped one fully engorged breast. He squeezed it and she closed her eyes and moaned. His long fingers played lightly over her erect nipple.

She was his. Key gave over to the rush of desire as his other hand pressed her more firmly against him; her rounded derrière cradled itself against his crotch. Michael's burgeoning erection rose and the thickness she felt there separated the cheeks of her butt.

"You're not answering me, ch(rie." He whispered. His moist breath played over her ear hotly and made the little hairs on the nap of her neck tingle.

Key moaned and Michael's other hand slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt, finding it's way under the elastic of the top of her underwear. Unconsciously she shifted and her small tight a** rubbed in a circular motion against his manhood. Key raised up on her tiptoes trying to increase the access his fingers had to her moist thatch. Her head dropped down, now watching his talented hands as one massaged her aching breast and the other slid deeper into her excuse for panties, brushing and combing through her curls, but not quite reaching their destination.

Her body arched against him as she spread her legs, praying for those long fingers to find her center. Then her own hands reached behind her, clutching his hips as his one arm now slid around and tightened under her breasts, lifting her up, giving him full access to the wet creamy lips of her sex. His fingers played there, rubbing the nub of her clitoris, then entering her with his middle finger.

"Oh-h-h-h . . ." Key shuddered with her first small orgasm. Michael continued to probe her, feeling her muscles contract around his finger. Then he withdrew and swept her up in his arms, moving swiftly to the bed. There he deposited her and as he quickly began pulling off his clothes, Key watched, her eyes smoldering deep purple. As he divested himself of his clothing and stood before her naked, his erection quivering against his flat taut stomach, Key ran her hands sensuously up her sides, raising her shirt and playing with her own breasts, cupping them in her small hands, squeezing them, then pulling the crop top over her head.

Michael moaned, then reached for her hips, grasping her skirt and removing it, sliding it down over her slender legs. With one knee on the bed beside her he touched the crotch of her silk thong panties, running just one finger along the edges, noting the dark wet area concealing her entrance.

"Please Michael." Key managed to beg.

"What? What do you want ma ch(rie?" He asked as he came up on the bed hovering over her face with his. Not standing for anymore of his slow teasing loveplay, Key reached up between them and grasped his throbbing penis in both hands.

"I want you inside me." The look on her face was rapt with passion. Michael, on his hands and knees over her, closed his eyes and sucked in an unsteady breath, then looked down between them as she handled his silken shaft. She caressed his length and as she did a drop of his seed pearled at the opening of his c*** and slowly dripped to her quivering stomach.

"You shall have me then." He responded as he gathered her close and ravaged her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers. His hands trailed down her back to the soft mounds of her butt squeezing, then finding her opening from behind so impossibly creamy as he ripped her panties and threw them to the floor.

When he released her sweet mouth and rolled her to her stomach, one hand flattened there lifting her up as he moved to position himself behind her. He fondled the twin moons of her a** as he spread and positioned her thighs. Raising up on her elbows, Key pushed back toward him on her knees and rested her head on the soft bed, giving herself an erotic view of Michael's c***. It was so engorged, the head almost purple from the blood pooled at the tip. She relaxed as she watched him handle himself, circling the flared head around the dripping wet opening of her vagina.

Her every nerve ending burned for him to bury himself inside her. His sac hung low, his balls swinging with each movement as he prepared himself. She licked her lips, groaning loudly in anticipation. Michael was torturing her . . . and him, rubbing the tip of his erection around and around the glistening moisture of her p***y. Then he leaned forward, running one hand up her spine to her neck as he allowed his length to bath itself with her juices, his tip gleaming wet, peaking at her through her curls.

"How do you want it?" He asked hoarsely as he frictioned himself again and again against her wetness.

"All of it . . . now." She almost screamed with frustration.

Michael straightened up, rearing back from her heart shaped a** and entering just the head into her opening he responded, "Like this?" Then he plunged into her.

"Oh, yes!" She brought her head up and arched her back down, pushing hard as he slammed his manhood home.

Key was so wet; so ready that even buried to the hilt, Michael felt her muscles expand to accept him immediately. She was throbbing with need as she pumped back, moving with him as he pounded into her over and over. He could feel the end of his c*** flattening against her cervix as he grasped her hips in his strong hands. Key began to rotate her hips in a circular motion, grasping him with her internal muscles each time he withdrew and slammed back again. Michael reached around with one hand and squeezed a swinging breast, pinching a nipple then turning his attention to it's twin.

His breath and hers were both out of control, ragged with need, and he continued to almost brutally plumb the depths of her hot tight channel. Then he felt the muscles inside her begin to ripple, grip him like a hand, and he knew she was nearing her peak. He increased the tempo, ramming into her, his balls slapping against her mound.

"Come for me ch(rie, Explode for me." He pleaded as he continued to plunge in and out.

And she did just that. Her creamy wetness dripping as the waves of her orgasm tightened on his penis like a vise. Intending to hold back, Michael gave up to the unbelievable rush of his orgasm, spewing uncontrollably inside of her.

"Ah-h-h-h . . .mon coeur." He shuddered as the wall of her vagina squeezed again in a second wave of contractions. The head of his penis flared, sending his seed deep, spurting hotly and mingling with her slick cum. He fell over her back, arms on either side of her supporting his weight as his c*** jerked and danced inside her. Michael pumped himself in and out of her a few more times, reaching both hands back to where their bodies joined so he could capture his thick semen as it seeped from her and flowed out around the root of his penis. Then he spread it over the cheeks of her butt, bathing her with the evidence of his passion.

Key collapsed beneath him, breathing heavily. Michael fell with her, not wanting to break their connection yet. He rolled them both to their sides, bringing his strongly muscled thigh up to rest over her hip as they both tried to catch their breath. He fought through the tangled curls of her hair, finding and kissing her neck as he circled her with his arms.

There, they both slept. The warm summer breeze coming through the open doors washed across their sweat soaked bodies, as the waves of the ocean crashed against Cashel Bay in the distance.

***************************************

Sleep was a good thing, but so was loving. And they both seemed to silently acknowledge that the scenario they were in now would not be one they could repeat very often once they were back at Section. Key absolutely had no idea there were so many ways to make love. He toyed with her, brought her to the edge, backed away, then took her sailing into an erogenous world of taste, sound, touch and sight she would never forget. He talked to her, showed her what sent him over the edge, gave her the control to do so.

By the time twilight arrived, he had to carry her to the shower and leave her there, knowing full well if he joined her they would never make it to dinner. Somehow they managed to switch places in the bathroom without getting sidetracked.

They arrived at the dinning room and found only a few other couples scattered around at tables along one side that opened toward the garden. When the maitre'd approached, he escorted them smoothly to the opposite side of the room to a table before the windows facing the bay. He smiled at the lovely couple watching as Michael seated Key. Then he presented Michael with the wine list and moved away, giving them some privacy.

"Would you like some wine?" He questioned.

"No, just some sparkling water would be fine." Key smiled at the picture Michael made in the low lamp light.

They had dressed for dinner. Michael was wearing a beautiful oatmeal linen suit, pale green cotton shirt and rose colored tie. His cinnamon curls just brushed the shoulders of his jacket, mostly untamed, because Key had run her fingers through them before they'd left the room, mussing them purposely.

"I never asked you before, but I take it you don't drink alcohol." His green eyes captured her look.

Key had chosen a turquoise knit ankle-length dress that clung to every curve. Small capped sleeves rested on her graceful shoulders and the plunging v-neck line exposed the swell of her creamy breasts. Michael was pretty certain she had absolutely nothing on underneath.

"U-m-m, it dulls the senses, Michael, and I want mine to be very clear." She reached across the small table, her fingertips brushing lightly over his. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against the juncture of her knuckles, his tongue quickly darting in and out of the webbed area between her middle and ring finger. Key drew her hand back like she'd been burned and placed it in her lap, darting a quick look around the room to make sure no one saw. Michael smiled.

"Stop it." She whispered with a mock prudish look on her face. "Or we'll never make it through dinner, and I'm hungry for food." Then she kicked off one sandal and ran her foot up the inside of his calf, returning the favor. Michael lifted an eyebrow, feigning shock at her gesture.

They both ordered their respective meals, Michael more aware of how little he knew of her everyday likes and dislikes. He watched with satisfaction as she ate heartily, so glad her appetite had returned. When they finished their dinner, they both requested coffee and moved out to the terrace, enjoying the harbor lights in companionable silence. Walking to one end of the terrace placed them out of view to the dining room and offered a degree of privacy. Michael leaned back against the railing, observing Key as she sipped her coffee and enjoyed the view. The weather, always changeable at the drop of a hat on the coast, had started to cool and there were clouds building to the south.

"Are you feeling okay?" He asked, breaking the silence.

Key turned at the sound of his voice, setting her coffee on the stone pillar connecting the wooden rails around the terrace. A mischievous look crossed her face as she answered, "You tell me, you felt every part of me there was to touch this afternoon. I have no secrets." Key moved closer and her light scent wafted around him - Freesia.

Michael looked down at his feet for a moment, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; "You know what I mean."

Key reached up and caressed one smoothly shaven cheek. "I'm fine. Did you have another marathon planned for tomorrow?"

Michael captured her hand and placed a kiss against her palm. "Non. I thought we would take a ride down the coast."

Key smiled. "That sounds wonderful."

He cupped her jaw with his other hand and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "How do you feel about motorcycles?"

Her eyes widened. "Fine. If you're driving, I'm riding."

"Good." He brought her close for a gentle kiss, tasted the lingering coffee flavor mingled with her sweetness.

Key moved closer circling her arms around him under his jacket. She watched the soft light play across the strong planes of his face, saw the heat building in his eyes as he brought a hand up and caressed the side of her breast through the thin knit. His other hand dropped to her firm butt, trailing fingers then his palm across both cheeks.

"Do you have anything on underneath this?" He inquired.

Key smiled wickedly, her hand running down the front of his loose fitting trousers until she encountered the very strong evidence of his desire. "No more than you."

Michael shifted, standing up away from the railing. "Then we should go. You need your rest."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" She said as they strolled back toward one of the dinning room doors.

He bent and kissed the top of her head. "Rest, after we see how you feel . . . one more time."

*************************************

July 28th

1020 hours

Western coast

Of Ireland

The day had dawned gloriously. Michael and Key had explored the park at Connemara, then turned to the coastal road heading south. The taste of momentary freedom whipped by them on the wind as they steadily made their way along the winding road. The changes in landscape were both fascinating and mysterious. From the lush mountainous area surrounding Connemara, they followed the narrow road, stopping once or twice to admire the beauty and wonder. Through the towns of Invern, Spidal, and Galway they traveled, then on to Clarinbridge and Kinvarra.

The sun as wonderfully warm and Key rested against Michael's back enjoying both the heat from his body and the strong rays of the summer sunshine. She felt Michael slow the speed of the motorcycle and raised up to look around. He had detoured off the coastal road toward a peninsula of sorts and the smell of the ocean was growing stronger. He came to a stop and Key, now grateful for a break, climbed off, removing her helmet. She was instantly struck speechless by the contrast of flat terraced rock and the proliferate existence of wild flowers. Michael extended his hand to her and they began walking, headed for the sound of the sea. As they traversed through the colorful flowers growing from the cracks in the rock, a cold chill skittered up her back. She stopped dead in her tracks and Michael ceased his forward motion as he felt the tug of her hand on his.

Key turned and looked in wonderment. Taking in the constantly shifting color of the ground before them. Shimmering metallic black between the breaks in flowers, the ground changed into bone white in places, and then battle ship gray in other areas. She broke his hold on her hand as she walked further across the expanse of pumice rock. Michael followed at a distance, the same chill of recognition running through his body. Key stopped as she came to a jagged rock edge that looked down on the sea rolling in against the limestone below.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked, raising her voice above the crashing of the waves.

Michael approached her side, not answering her as he searched the dark violet depths of her eyes. He reached out and smoothed the tendrils of curls escaping from the tie that bound her hair.

She sucked in a deep breath, turning to search out over the water then back again to look at the flowers behind her. "I've been here before." She stated. "In a dream." Key focused again on the man standing beside her. "I wanted to . . .." This was unreal. How could she have. Michael was looking over her head now, somewhere off in the distance.

"You wanted to what?" His jaw was clinched; his eyes had changed to that impenetrable gray-green.

"To . . . die." She forced herself to say it. "I was sick, hurting, tired and . . ."

"You felt abandoned." His statement was tinged with anger. Anger directed at himself.

"No." Key grabbed his arm forcing him to look at her. "I was afraid." She paused. "You were there." Key pointed back to the flowers. "Begging me to come away from here."

"And I couldn't move." Michael started speaking. "I was locked into one place. I tried calling to you and my voice was frozen." He looked down at her, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath. "So we spoke . . . with our thoughts."

Michael grabbed both her arms. "I had the same dream. It was the night I brought you into Section Four." Another cold chill swept over Key and she shuddered. "You argued with me. You said your parents were calling you to join them."

"They were." She whispered, not believing he had actually had the same dream.

"I spoke to you, told you you couldn't go . . . that I needed you. I pleaded for you to fight."

Key shook her head as if to clear it. Michael continued. "That's when I woke up. I was in a room there resting and I left to come back to the med bay. That was right after they intubated you. Ken told me to talk to you, that you could hear me."

She leaned her head forward, the top of it resting against his solid chest. When she raised her face back up, there were tears swimming in her eyes. "And Tallie told me to listen for your voice. He told me it wasn't time."

"Tallie?" Michael asked and Key nodded her head.

"He said you needed me more." The tears raced silently down her cheeks. "When I turned away from the cliff, the last thing he said was - Please remember me."

Michael crushed her to him. Hugging her tightly. Their warmth mingling together as the wind picked up around them. The flowers danced and swirled as Key cried herself out of tears.

Michael held her for a long time, soaking up her presence. When he finally released her, he said. "I have something for you." His hands trailed down her arms and one went to his pocket. What he withdrew was the key to the safe deposit box. The one that still held the papers for another identity. It was on a new chain of shiny white gold and Michael slipped it over her head.

"Michael, I told you I wouldn't use it." Key looked into those impossibly beautiful green eyes.

"I know. But I want you to keep it close anyway." His voice was soft, full of emotion.

Key fingered it, dreading the idea that she would ever need to use it, when she noticed something different about it. Engraved on one side, the side that would rest against her, were the words "un c(ur, un (me."

"Michael." She whispered his name as her heart swelled inside her chest.

"Happy birthday, mon aime." He kissed her gently.

"You remembered." Key was trying not to cry again.

"I don't make promises I never intend to keep." Then with a reverence he seemed to reserve only for her he said, "I love you." His lips claimed hers again, this time with a passion she fully returned. He wrapped an arm around her waist and they started to walk back toward the bike, when she stopped.

"Wait, just one minute." She darted around the rocky crevices gathering a handful of flowers, then pulling him back toward the cliff she handed them to him. "Hold these." She instructed as she reached back and pulled the ribbon from her hair. Michael looked confused for a moment as she tied the flowers with the piece of purple silk. Then she guided his hand with hers swinging back then forward again, releasing the bouquet into the air.

And as they both watched the flowers drift though the air to the ocean below she said, "Good bye Tallie. Thank you for being our friend. We will always remember you."

************

July 29th

1200 hours

Section One

Michael watched, void of any expression on his face, as Key ran through the pasture to greet D.B. The horse's head came up as he heard her call his name. Ears pricked; tail in the air like a flag, the proud Arabian started toward her. The camera zoomed in and you could see the joy spread across her face. Unfortunately the surveillance on the two of them would be unrelenting for a while. He'd anticipated it, warned Key to expect it.

"She looks fully recovered from her ordeal." Madeline's voice forced him back to the here and now. He turned away from the video screen, meeting the cool brown eyes.

"Yes. She's very resilient." He spoke softly as he fixed her with his impenetrable gaze.

"I gather since you've returned with Ms. Yager she's made her choice and intends to stay with Section."

"Yes."

"You know, Michael, we can't accept anything less than her best . . . or yours." She moved gracefully back to the seat behind her desk. "I hope she doesn't regret her choice."

"There won't be any problems." He stated as he stood, hands clasped in front of him.

"I assume you've come to the conclusion that a continued relationship with this woman is not wise." She focused on some data in front of her, hitting a button on the keyboard, scrolling through some information about an upcoming mission.

"Assume what you like." Michael said as he stepped forward toward her desk. "But know this. She will be serving this organization from strictly a Systems' position. No more field missions." Another promise he'd made that he intended to keep.

Madeline glanced up from her screen. "Those decisions do not rest in your hands, Michael."

"This one does." He reached into his coat and removed the data recorder, handing it to her.

She took the device, reading the information there, then placing it on her glass desk. Her eyes locked on to his, still cool and unreadable. "Perhaps you're right." The statement was forced; her lips pressed together gave only the slightest hint of her displeasure. "That will be all, Michael."

He gave her that imperceptible nod of his and turned to leave. The doors to her office swished open, then closed, as he exited.

Madeline's eyes wandered to the screen where Key's figure remained captured in a freeze frame. "She may not regret her choice," she said softly, "but I hope you don't regret yours, Michael." Then she turned back to her monitor, her attention elsewhere for the time being.

FIN

January 7, 1999